Worth Any Price
by augiesannie
Summary: "The game isn't always worth the prize, Elsa." The story of Elsa Schraeder and Georg von Trapp.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"I've been thinking about it, and I've come to a decision. I'm going to get married." Georg von Trapp paused, watching over the rim of his coffee cup for her reaction.

"Oh, Georg, I didn't know you cared," Elsa Schraeder said airily, lighting a cigarette before joining him in a hearty laugh.

He'd arrived early for their business meeting, hoping she'd feed him breakfast on her patio, so they could enjoy an uncommonly warm, beautiful spring morning. Although he was a frequent visitor to her home, he always stayed at one or another of Vienna's finest hotels, to fend off the gossips. Not, of course, that there was anything to gossip about. Elsa Schraeder and Georg von Trapp were business partners and, much to their mutual surprise, the best of friends. But no hotel could match Elsa's townhouse: tastefully decorated, with flawless service and superb food, even at breakfast.

"It's just that I can't go on this way," he explained. "My children need a mother, for one thing. They're completely out of control. They've driven ten governesses away since, uh …" he paused uncomfortably, "since their mother died, and I can't be called home from my business interests in Vienna to deal with them every time I turn around. And my staff, well," he sighed, "my housekeeper's getting on, and I just don't trust my butler. So, you see, I need someone to run the household as well." .

Georg didn't add that recently, and much to his shocked chagrin, his body had awakened from its four years' nap, reminding him that while his beloved wife was dead, he was still very much alive, a man in his prime. The very thought of another woman in his bed made him feel guilty. But he suspected that he'd feel twice as guilty if he took a mistress, even if such an arrangement would be more efficient. No, he'd have to find himself a wife, even though in his heart of hearts, he knew he'd never love anyone the way he'd loved Agathe.

Elsa refilled his coffee cup, interrupting his thoughts. "Have you settled on a candidate yet?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with interest. " _Do_ tell me. Is it that little blonde sprite, Marilese – what was her last name again? You hate dancing, and yet you danced with her twice last night."

He snorted. "Marilese Etten. Lovely young girl. She was confiding in me about her romance with the family's chauffeur. Her parents would be thrilled to unload her on me, but come on, Elsa. She's not three years older than my oldest daughter."

"Or is it someone more – sophisticated? Like Elana Larsen?" Elsa leaned forward, lifting her beautifully groomed eyebrows so suggestively he laughed.

"Elsa. Be realistic. If Elana married me, I'd have to insist that she stop sleeping her way to the world's priciest jewelry collection. I'm not _that_ rich."

"Well, whatever will make you happy, Georg darling. We'll have to draw up a list of suitable candidates. Now. I've got to go freshen up, and then I want to show you those tax papers, and I've got some shopping to do before we meet the Millers for lunch. Meet me in the library in a quarter hour, will you?" She blew a kiss in his direction and disappeared into the house.

Georg got himself another cup of coffee and settled into the library to wait for her, knowing that Elsa's fifteen-minute freshen-ups could easily take twice that long. His friendship with Elsa was the latest example of how his life had turned out nothing like he'd expected. The ne'er do well descendant of a barely aristocratic land-owning family, he'd found his passion at sea. An infamous rake, he'd married an heiress and settled into a long and happy marriage, fathering seven children. He'd become a national hero ("What was I supposed to do?" he'd asked his wife. "Let them sink my submarine?"). A man known for icy self-control in the most terrifying of circumstances, he'd fallen apart four years ago at the death of his wife.

And then, ten months ago, Georg von Trapp – who'd grown up an only child, schooled at home on an isolated countryside estate, who'd never sought the easy camaraderie of his fellow seamen because he rose above them at such a young age – Georg von Trapp had made a friend. A charming, witty, beautiful widow named Elsa Schraeder.

He remembered their first meeting as though it were yesterday and not almost a year ago: she'd been finishing a cigarette on the balcony at the von Appel's musicale when she'd spotted him sulking in the shadows.

"Aren't you going to come in?" she asked. "The program's about to begin."

From the beginning, he'd loved the sound of her voice. Sometimes, he made her read the newspaper aloud to him, just to revel in how she could make the dark headlines sound

"No," he snapped. "I don't listen to music." He didn't bother to complete the thought out loud: not anymore.

"If you hate music, then why are you at a musicale?" she asked, practically. Her manner was warm and friendly, but not, thank God, flirtatious. And she was awfully easy on the eyes.

"von Appel is a business associate of mine. He begged me to come, and I foolishly agreed. Only after I got here, did I realize that he has hopes of making a match for me. With his daughter," he added bitterly. "And as for music? I used to adore it. I play several instruments. My wife and I, together, we-" He stopped suddenly. What had possessed him to unburden himself to this woman? It might have been her eyes – dark sapphire pools that flickered with compassion, or her manner – breezy enough that he could trust her not to be maudlin, but genuinely interested, somehow.

"I need a drink," he said suddenly.

"I'd love that," she agreed, and before he knew it, she had taken his arm, steered him into the von Appels' library, settled him on the couch, and handed him a brandy. He regarded her warily, not sure himself if he was glad for her company or wanted to be left alone.

"What do you want, Miss – er – Madame – er – I don't believe we've met, have we?"

"Elsa," she said. "Elsa Schraeder. Baroness Schraeder, if you're not one of my friends. I hope we will be friends, though. Tell me, why do you think I want something from you?"

"People are always asking me to do things I don't want to do. They want my money to prop up their businesses. They suggest that I marry their daughters or sisters, or their widowed mothers, or in one case, their wives. They demand that I cozy up to the Germans." He didn't add, "they ask me to warm their beds, a proposition which is beginning to tempt me more than I want to admit." Nor did he add, "they expect me to love the children, whose very presence reminds me of what I've lost." After all, he barely knew this woman. "I'm von Trapp," he added instead. "Georg von Trapp."

"I know," she smiled, "The famous Captain von Trapp. And a baron as well, am I correct? But earned by birth and with acts of heroism, not by marriage, the way I earned my title. No, no, no," she waved him back into his seat, "I don't want any of those things from you, you mustn't run away. This is business."

"Business?" Georg was intrigued.

"Business," she repeated. "I'm trying to decide whether to invest in a shipping deal. With a group of Mexican investors. It looks too good to be true, so I know I ought to run in the other direction. But my manager says the numbers look fine. I'd like a second set of eyes. It's hard enough to find an honest advisor at all, let alone one who's not interested in making a more permanent connection to my money."

"Do you mean to tell me," he fumbled, something he rarely did, "that you – uh – that is, you don't look like the type …" he trailed off.

"I'm a widow. A wealthy one, who wants to stay that way, and is smart enough to make sure of it. And yes, I know I don't look like it. I'm not above taking advantage of that when I need to," and she almost preened in a way he found refreshingly honest.

"Why me?" he blurted.

"I know all about you. You know ships. You turned your wife's small fortune into a big one. And you're not interested in marrying anyone. You're exactly what I'm looking for."

Georg was hooked after that. At first, he enjoyed the challenge of familiarizing himself with her late husband's business interests, coaching her through complex negotiations, celebrating when every deal they closed turned to gold. He had to work hard to break her of her habit of wanting to close every deal, no matter the price: "The game isn't always worth the prize, Elsa. Sometimes, the smartest thing you can do is walk away."

Very quickly, however, what had begun as a business partnership had turned into an odd but satisfying friendship. They not only shared an interest in the arts and literature, a love of beautiful things and places, a cynical attitude about people, and a sometimes ribald sense of humor; Elsa and Georg had something else in common, an emotion that he'd learned was even stronger than greed, lust or even love: grief. She was the only one who understood what he'd been through, what he was still going through, who gave him the understanding he needed and asked nothing in return. She didn't want his money, she didn't want to marry him, and she never asked disquieting questions about his children, either.

He drank his third cup of coffee and had started on a fourth when she finally appeared.

"There, Georg darling , that wasn't too terribly long, was it?"

He glanced at his watch. "Fifteen minutes? More like twice that but," he grinned, "well worth the wait. You look lovely, Elsa darling."

Elsa's eyes sought her reflection in the mirror that hung on the far wall. She _did_ look especially good today, cool and elegant in mint-green. It was a special day today, after all, even if no one else knew it: twenty years since she'd married Erich, twenty years ago today, and him ten years gone by now.

Her wedding day had been raw and gloomy, the perfect match for the mood of a very young bride whose brothers had practically auctioned her off to Erich Schraeder, a minor aristocrat twice her age. With her parents long gone, and after years of mistreatment at her older brothers' hands, Elsa had long ago stopped asking God for protection. But as it turned out, He _had_ been watching out for her, giving her a husband who had turned out to be kind, gentle, generous and fun, who would do anything to make her happy. They'd been crazy about each other. The only thing Erich hadn't been able to give her was more time for the two of them to be together.

Her gaze drifted to his portrait hanging over the fireplace.

"If Erich were here, he'd say the same thing, only more eloquently," Georg said gently.

For a moment, she wanted to tell Georg why today's date was so special to her , but decided against it. Georg was in a far better place now than when they'd first met, but she didn't like to upset him when she could avoid it. Elsa understood, like few other people could, that even the smallest reminder of one's true love – her Erich, his Agathe – could, without warning, open wounds that took days to heal. After ten years to Georg's four, she'd had more practice managing the grief, accepting that it would always be there, and learning how to stay on top of it most of the time.

Most people went through life without being lucky enough even once to have the kind of love she'd had with Erich, and that Georg had shared with his Agathe. Georg was always telling her that some deals were not worth the cost, but Elsa Schraeder knew that her ten happy years with Erich had been worth the pain that came afterward.

Georg was still a bit of a riddle at times. There was a restlessness about him: wherever he was, it seemed like he wanted to be somewhere else. He never stayed in the same hotel twice. He was constantly racing back to Salzburg to look after his children's welfare, yet never talked of them otherwise. He turned up at every one of Elsa's soirees, where he'd sulk in the corner, complaining that the crowd was much too _exciting_ for his tastes.

Elsa handed Georg the envelope of tax papers and watched as the familiar ritual unfolded: his face was grim with concentration at first, his fingers drumming restlessly on the desk. Then, slowly, he relaxed as he mastered the material within. Five minutes later, he looked up and, in thirty seconds, analyzed the situation for her, gave her three options and recommended the best among them. His manner was offhand, as though he'd just chosen a necktie or ordered from the wine list, but there was a certain air of smugness. Things did come easy to Georg, a man possessed of a keen mind and a strikingly handsome, vibrant physical presence.

But Elsa knew how he'd suffered. She'd sat with him through the long nights, insisting he cut back on his drinking, listening to him pour out his heart. Once she'd learned of his childhood dream of being a concert pianist, Elsa's instincts told her that music might help ease his pain. So she'd coaxed Georg into listening again, starting with baby steps – just the two of them in her salon, listening to recordings of artists that he didn't much care for, Bach or Beethoven, and of course the Strausses – he despised the waltz. Then she moved on to small doses of the darker composers he loved but Agathe had been indifferent to; that was their first concert outing, to see Rachmaninoff perform in person. Only recently had she introduced the composers Agathe loved best: Chopin, Debussy and Schubert. Last month, he'd even accompanied her to an all-Mozart performance. Elsa wouldn't quite say that Georg was finding pleasure in music, not yet, but he could actually survive an evening in Vienna's finest concert venues. Though Elsa had learned to leave her rings at home: he still made it through the hard parts by clinging to her hands until he left bruises behind.

Georg was a friend well worth a few bruises. He was the only man she'd ever met who encouraged her love for business and her bawdy jokes, but also appreciated the finer things. They knew how to make each other laugh. She admired him for being open-minded enough to maintain his ties to Max Detweiler, who had quickly forged a fast friendship with Elsa and was always available to amuse her when Georg was called home. Georg even had an eye for fashion! She sought out her reflection in once more, and their eyes caught in the mirror. Apparently, he'd been admiring her too.

She laughed, smoothing her dress over her hips. "Don't let your prospective brides catch you looking at me that way. Not everyone is as enlightened as we two, you know. Now. Off for some shopping, and then lunch at the Millers. And I want to confirm our plans for dinner with Max on Friday, before the Opera Ball."

Georg extended his arm to her. "Shall we, Baroness Schraeder?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Every sailor knows that bad weather can change the course of history, and indeed, Georg would look back on that late May evening more than once, wondering how things might have turned out differently had the weather stayed clear. It had started out fine, cool, with a fresh breeze. The sky held a few wispy clouds and a sliver of moon. The Opera Ball was the major social occasion of the spring season, and Elsa looked especially lovely in sapphires and silk, so much so that he made a rare exception and took her in his arms for one of the Strauss waltzes.

"You're always running yourself down! Here you made me think that waltzing with you would be like stumbling about like a drunken bear," she teased. "You're quite talented, actually."

"It must have been the partner, darling," he bowed extravagantly, looking devilishly handsome in his severe black-and-white evening clothes. "I'm still the same unexciting von Trapp you know and love." She rolled her eyes at him before going in search of Max for the last dance of the evening.

One of the things he loved most about Elsa was the girlish side she only occasionally let show. They were making their way through the crush of socialites waiting for their cars and carriages, when she turned to him, and proposed, "I know your hotel is just across the way, but will you walk me home, Georg? Please? It will be so lovely along the river."

After months of near-sobriety, he'd had perhaps one too many glasses of champagne, not to mention a whiskey or two with friends in the bar. Whether it was the alcohol, or the promise of spring, or simply the refreshing breeze when they exited the hall, he welcomed her impulse. "All right, Elsa. Go ahead and send your driver home."

By the time she'd dismissed her driver and they set out along the river, the breeze had picked up, but he was so entertained by the filthy joke she'd learned from a visiting Swedish prince – something about a sailor, a manicurist and a monkey - that he didn't pay attention to the first few raindrops. Then, before they knew it, the skies opened up. The wind whipped the trees sideways, and the rain pelted them, turning Elsa's tissue-thin dress to little more than a clinging dark shadow . He pulled his evening jacket off and threw it around her. "We'll have to run for the hotel," he shouted above the shrieking wind, and hand in hand, they ran the few blocks back to his hotel.

The hotel lobby was hot, brightly lit, and crowded. Georg took the scene in instantly: Germans, dozens of them, drunken staggering, swaggering Germans, too many of them singing loudly off key. His stomach turned.

"Elsa." She was sitting on a nearby bench, her blond curls askew, laughing as she wrung the rain out of what remained of her dancing slippers. "This rain's not stopping for a while and we'll both catch our death of cold sitting out here like this. And," he lowered his voice, "I cannot tolerate the company down here. A the risk of feeding the gossips, why don't you come upstairs with me? I've got a suite, so there will be plenty of privacy for you. It will all be very proper, I promise, and I can offer you some towels and a place by the fire until the storm stops."

A half-hour later, they were sipping brandy by a glowing fire, comfortably warm and dry. He pulled up an armchair, while Elsa curled up on the loveseat, looking dainty in his oversized robe. With her legs tucked underneath her, her blonde hair curling softly around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed by the fire, she brightened what had, until now, been just another grim, anonymous accommodation. Outside the storm roared on; lightning forked the sky as the lights flickered , and peals of thunder crashed. There was more brandy, and a lively argument over the play they'd seen last week, and conversation about the upcoming summer holidays – one-sided conversation, he realized after a while. Elsa had grown disturbingly quiet.

"Elsa? Is something wrong?"

"It- it's all right Georg, It's so silly, I'm just …."

"Just?"

"Afraid. Terrified, actually. My brothers once locked me in my room during a storm like this one. As a joke, I guess. I couldn't have been more than, I don't know, six or eight? I had no candle or heat and I thought-well," she said, with a nervous little laugh – "I'm not a little girl any more, but the fear never really left me. When Erich was alive, no matter what he was doing, when storms like this hit, he'd come and find me, and hold me close. When I'm at home, my maid knows; she always finds an excuse to be in the room for the worst of it."

His heart lurched with pity, for a young girl, as young as his Marta, with neither mother nor father to protect her. Which in turn reminded him of how his own young family had been shattered by tragedy. His children were motherless and their father wasn't doing them much good, either. Georg drained his glass, which made him think about how Elsa had patiently held his hand during his first nights without brandy. His heart overflowed with sentiment, and his brain muddled by alcohol, he slid into the space alongside Elsa on her loveseat and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. She smelled delicious: sweet, but with womanly edge he recognized. Deep within, something flickered and caught fire.

Her head fell to his shoulder. Suddenly, it was a battle to draw breath. He whispered her name, or did she whisper his? He never knew; he could nothing over the roar of his blood in his ears. He only knew her mouth, lush and inviting, and then there was her soft skin, the smoked honey of her voice, the unbearable sweetness of her touch. Every conscious thought vanished as they fell into each other's arms.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **In our Proboards group, we've had dozens of conversations about Elsa, and her relationship with Georg. We've discussed E &G so much that I have to thank everyone on Proboards for the inspiration, really, and I'd better apologize in advance for any inadvertent borrowing of others' brilliant ideas. This story was inspired by an almost two-year-old comment by utilitysinger. I owe HUGE thanks to thebeestings, who got me unstuck a half-dozen times when I ran off the road with this story, and for overall cheerleading. Thanks as always to lemacd for staunch encouragement. Thanks also to everyone who filled in the blanks on A&G's musical preferences, though thoroughlymodernjulie made me laugh the most. There's more to come! I don't own anything about TSOM or its characters.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It took Elsa a minute or two to make sense of things. The fearful, stormy night was gone, a distant memory. Her throbbing head hinted at a night soaked in champagne and brandy, but there were other puzzling aches and pains that had no explanation. The windows in her bedroom were kept heavily shaded, and a lavish canopy arched over her bed, so how was it possible that the brilliant morning sun needled painfully at her closed eyes? And she couldn't figure out the sound of running water and a low baritone hum nearby.

A feeling of dread uncoiled in her stomach as the memories of last night came flooding back. Elsa felt her cheeks burn red and she buried her face in the pillow, only to startle at its suddenly familiar fragrance: cologne and brandy and sweaty male. Georg. She had spent the night in his hotel room. In his bed.

"Good morning!"

She didn't even get a desperately-needed moment to regain her poise before he appeared at the foot of the bed, wearing - dear God - Elsa didn't know where to look. She sat up in bed, clutching the sheet around her.

His lips quirked upward. "Hold on, then," and he reached for a robe that lay discarded on the floor nearby. "Let's try that again. Good morning, Elsa."

"Good morning," Elsa choked. She could hardly look him in the face, she was so ashamed. What must he think? A woman her age, behaving first like a spoiled, fearful child and then like an empty headed trollop? She might as well get it over with, the apologizing. She could only hope they hadn't damaged their friendship beyond repair. She'd never find anyone she could trust with her affairs the way she had Georg.

"Elsa?"

"No, Georg, let me say it first. I am so, so sorry for what happened last night. I don't know what came over me. I should never have let myself lose control that way."

"No," he interrupted. "You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. I suppose that if I were a true gentleman, I'd be the one apologizing, but the truth is," and a grin split his face, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, "I rather enjoyed it when you lost your - ehrm - control. I believe I lost mine as well, somewhere along the line, hm?"

She hadn't thought it possible to blush any harder, but she'd been wrong. "If you'll excuse me, Georg, I'll just be…" She tried to wrap the sheet more tightly around her, while her eyes searched for the shortest route to the bathroom.

"Elsa." Georg's tone was unexpectedly forceful, and when her eyes met hers, his face was serious. "Stay put for a moment, would you? I've been up for an hour, and there's something I want to tell you."

From the next room came the sudden harsh ring of a telephone. "Don't you need to get that?" she almost begged.

"They'll take a message," he said firmly. He seated himself on the side of the bed, took her hand, and blurted out, "I want you to marry me."

"I beg your pardon?" More in shock than revulsion, she yanked her hand from his.

He sprang to his feet and the words poured out of him as he began to pace the room. "We should get married. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. There's no woman I'd rather spend time with. I might not be the most exciting man in Vienna, but always have things to talk about. We make each other laugh. And now, we-" his eyes slid across the bed before meeting hers again - "we suit, don't you think?"

Elsa did not want to think about _that_. "But, Georg. I don't love you. And you don't love me."

"I understand, Elsa. Of course. There will never be anyone for you like your Erich. Nor like Agathe for me. But that's why this will work. We know what to hope for, and what, well, what not to."

"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "Is all of that really enough for a marriage? And another thing - there _is_ the little matter of your children, Georg, remember? I don't want children."

"But you've never even met them!" he protested. "They're extremely well behaved. No trouble at all."

Elsa didn't have to say a word, only lift her eyebrows.

He opened his mouth to object when the phone rang again. "I'm sorry," he apologized," but it might be urgent, from home." He returned in a few minutes, his face hardened with intent. "Damned timing. I've got to get back to Salzburg. Another governess has flown the coop. Something about spiders in her bed."

She breathed a sigh of relief that the subject of marriage had been displaced by more urgent concerns. He disappeared into the dressing room , muttering to himself, and reappeared within a few minutes, neatly dressed in a suit and tie. "I can't understand how such well-behaved children can be so difficult for a governess to manage," he grumbled. "It's not like the Navy, for God's sake."

Elsa smothered a smile.

"If you'd like to get dressed, Elsa, I can drop you at home; there's a private side exit." For a moment, she wondered if he had an established routine for this, if other women had spent the night in his bed since he began visiting Vienna. She didn't think so, not from the hungry way his eyes lingered on her, and in any event, it was none of her business.

"I'm sorry," he said regretfully. 'I was hoping – well, I'll be back in a few days. Meanwhile, I want you to think about our getting married."

She should have known he wouldn't give up so easily. But something else was bothering Elsa, something she couldn't name. Or didn't want to, more like it. So she remained silent, as they dressed and met Georg's driver at the side door. The silence continued as they rode home. Elsa kept her eyes firmly fixed on her feet, preferring the sight of a ruined pair of wildly expensive dancing slippers to Georg's warm gaze. When they arrived at her house, she turned her head to meet his kiss with her cheek.

"All right, have it your way," he chuckled. "But I'll be back in a day or two. And Elsa?"

"Yes, Georg." She managed a smile.

"I don't need to warn you. You know me too well already. In the end, I always get what I want."

Elsa tore through the front door and raced up the stairs, rushing past her butler and two maids, swallowing her sobs long enough to strip off her ruined dress and get herself under a hot shower. Only then did she let the tears come.

It wasn't that she'd betrayed Erich, not at all. He was dead, after all, had now been dead now for as long as they'd been married. Instead – feeling angry one moment and guilty the next – Elsa now understood that, in a way, Erich had betrayed _her_.

Because she'd had _no_ _idea._

Erich had taught her everything she knew about love between men and women but, it turned out, he hadn't taught her near enough. What she'd known as pleasure had merely been pleasant; it had nothing at all to do with the fierce joy that had swept through her, again and again, during her night with Georg.

The hot water pouring over her couldn't erase the images: Georg's face, his blue eyes burning hot and bright. His shoulders and arms taut above her. It couldn't wash away the way it had felt when he'd lavished kisses down her neck and lower. And it couldn't drown out the words of praise and desire he'd whispered, let alone the frenzied cries that had filled the room, his voice and hers as well.

Elsa spent the next whole day in bed, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, alternately feeling furious and guilty about Erich. They'd been so happy together, so close in every way. But when he died, of all the losses she mourned, she barely gave a second thought to the space he'd left in her bed. Georg had awakened something she'd forgotten – no! If she were honest with herself, he'd awakened something she'd never even imagined possible. She could decline his marriage proposal and she probably should, but she'd never be the same again.

All that long day, Elsa let the phone go unanswered, though she eagerly leapt on the messages her butler brought on a tray: three calls from Georg and one from Max Detweiler. Feeling like she might explode if she didn't talk to someone, she invited Max to breakfast the next morning.

"Elsa." He kissed her cheek and gave her an appraising look. "There something going on with you. You look … different. Tell Max now, every single little detail, darling."

Of course, she couldn't tell him everything, but it couldn't hurt to share the big picture.

"It's Georg. He's asked me to marry him," she said casually, and despite her mood, she had to laugh at Max's reaction: he choked on his coffee and knocked the pastry tray onto the floor.

"Marry you? Whatever for?"

"His children need a mother." Now that she was saying it out loud, the whole idea seemed even more preposterous. "And he needs someone to run his life. His household and so on. We are fond of each other, you know, and neither one of us is looking for the love of a lifetime. We're both realistic that way."

"Hm." Max paused to sip his coffee. "I do like the idea of keeping your two fortunes away from strangers," as though he hadn't only known Elsa for a matter of months. "So Georg gets a wife and mother. A buddy. What do you get?"

"I don't know." She shook her head vigorously, hoping to dislodge the image that suddenly floated before her eyes: Georg's face, wracked by fierce passion. Fortunately, she was spared the need to answer Max's question in any more detail by the convenient interruption of a telephone call.

"It's Captain von Trapp, ma'am," her butler said, bringing the small telephone table to her side. Elsa gathered her wits about her; it would be easier to take this call with Max at her side.

"Elsa, darling." His voice rapped out.

"Georg. How are things in Salzburg?"

"That's what I'm calling about. But first. Tell me how you are, Elsa. I've been trying to call."

"I'm – I'm fine, Georg. Really. Just busy. Max is here, so I can't really..."

"Of course. Not a good time to talk. I wanted to notify you that I'd hoped to be back today, but it's not going to work out. The new governess lasted only two hours. Something about the fish cakes at luncheon," he added, and Elsa wondered vaguely why he sounded so amused.

"But I had an idea, a brilliant idea, Elsa. About my children. And how to find a governess that will keep them in line and out of your w- out of trouble, I mean. I'm getting a governess from Nonnberg Abbey."

Elsa laughed. "A cloistered nun? What makes you think that a _nun_ will be able to handle your children, Georg?"

"You don't know their reputation, Elsa darling. The place is full of tough old battleaxes. I can't wait to see my children's faces when they meet their new governess," he chuckled. "I'll have her deployed in a day or two and I'll be back as quickly as I can, I promise. But that's not the only reason for my call."

He paused, whether to gather his courage or wait for her to show some interest, Elsa wasn't sure, but she stayed silent.

"Elsa, I want you to come to Salzburg. To the villa, in Aigen."

"Georg," she began, but he interrupted.

"Hear me out. We haven't been out of the city for months. It's beautiful here. I want you to meet my children. Sister-whatever-her-name-is will be here, and you'll be able to see how smoothly everything will work with her on board. I'm not asking for an answer to my proposal now. I merely want you to come and investigate the idea for yourself."

"Oh, Georg," she burst out. "I don't know. This is all happening so fast. I don't really belong in the countryside. And children, well…" She tailed off. "Why don't you get your governess settled and come back to Vienna where you belong, and then we'll talk about it."

There was an explosion of noise on Georg's end of the call. "Hold on," he said, and Elsa heard, in quick succession, Georg barking, "Friedrich, what are you doing in here? My study is strictly off limits, and Kurt! Put those binoculars down this minute. That's an order!" followed by what sounded like a piercing whistle. Puzzled, she waited until he returned to the call, sounding defeated. "Elsa. Just think about it, all right? I'll even come to Vienna and escort you back here, if it will make it easier. And you can bring Max."

Despite her ambivalence, Elsa was amused. "A chaperone, Georg? Really?"

He laughed. "It's called a courtship, darling. That's how it's done, if I recall correctly. Now. I'll be back in a few days. Don't waste your time dithering about it. Pack your bags at once. And that's an order."

All that day and the next, Elsa told herself that of course she wasn't going to travel all the way to Salzburg. What was the point of considering a marriage proposal she wasn't going to accept? It was absolutely out of the question. The only thing of interest in Salzburg, besides Mozart of course, was Georg, but Salzburg also meant seven children, lakes, trees, mountains and various other things Elsa had no interest in.

But the haunting sounds and images of the night she'd spent in Georg's bed seemed to follow Elsa everywhere. Her skin tingled with the memory of his touch. Again and again, she turned things over in her mind: of course she ought to walk away from his proposal. Marriage would take away her independence and instead give her seven children, when she didn't want even one. But the feelings churned up by her night with Georg refused to subside.

"Is all of that enough for a marriage?" she'd asked Georg, but she couldn't recall his answer. Was it worth it? It didn't matter, she realized. Even if she didn't marry Georg, she'd never be able to go back to being the Elsa Schraeder she'd been before the night of the Opera Ball. And if she couldn't go backward, the only way to go was forward.

She rang for her butler.

"Peter. I need to send a telegram."

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 **I hope you're enjoying this story! There's lots more to come. Thanks for the favorites and follows and nice reviews. Please leave me a review and tell me what you're thinking. I don't own anything about TSOM or the characters, this is all for love.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**  
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Georg slammed the boot closed and slid behind the wheel. He was eager to get back to Vienna quickly, before Elsa had a chance to change her mind about visiting Salzburg. He was just about to start the engine when he hesitated. The last time he'd arrived in Vienna, the hotel bellman had been scared half to death by a snake his children had left in the boot. Better safe than sorry; Georg checked the boot to make sure its only occupant was his suitcase. Only then did he pull out on the road to Vienna, thinking back to last night's telephone conversation.

"Elsa! I got your telegram. My children are delighted. I promise you, the trip will be worth it. How soon will you be ready to go? Wednesday? By the weekend, certainly."

He heard her pause to light a cigarette. "Oh Georg, I was thinking we'd do it next month sometime."

"Next month?"

"Max has auditions this week and the next. And I need time to get ready. I haven't got anything suitable to wear in the country."

"Elsa," he warned fondly, "we don't dress up here."

"Yes, darling, that's just the point. In Vienna, I'm always dressed up."

Georg sighed. A month's delay could spell disaster on the domestic front, where things were none too stable. Nonnberg hadn't sent him a battleax after all. They'd sent him a _girl_ : a fresh-looking, cheerful, undisciplined girl. He had to admire the way she'd handled the children's usual first-night routine at dinner, the trick with the pine cone, but he wasn't very optimistic about how long she'd last.

He'd have tried to talk Elsa into moving the trip up – Max, he knew, could be easily bought off with the right bottle from his wine cellar – but their call was interrupted by a disturbance overhead, coming from the servants' wing. Although it was long after the children's bedtime, he could hear them _singing_ , for God's sake, so loud they could be heard over the storm raging outside. The light fixture on his desk shook with the force of their running or dancing or whatever the hell was going on up there. Not wanting Elsa to get any hint of how chaotic life could be at the villa, he'd simply rung off, promising to return as soon as possible. And now, after last night's unpleasant confrontation with the new governess, he was on his way, hoping it wouldn't be long before he'd be bringing Elsa and Max back for their visit.

At war, a naval officer never fought the same battle twice, but on the domestic front, Georg had been through this governess routine a dozen times. He knew perfectly well that his children had driven away eleven previous governesses away in a bid for attention, and each time he'd come home to pick up the pieces, he'd tried to do whatever it was the father of motherless children was supposed to do. But he hadn't a clue what that was. The whistles and marching that had begun as a game had turned into something he didn't want to examine too closely. The look on the new fraulein's face told him that.

This trip to Salzburg was ending like all the others had: the disappointment and helplessness had built up until it was a relief to return to Vienna. The reality was that the children only reminded him of everything he'd lost. Agathe's death had destroyed his family more thoroughly than any enemy charge had ever demolished a ship, inflicting a mortal wound and leaving behind only a gaping, messy hole.

Georg was a sensible man. When Elsa married him – and he was certain his campaign would succeed – he wouldn't need to feel guilty about Agathe, whose place in his heart, and his children's hearts, would remain undisturbed. Still, Elsa had helped him learn to enjoy life again and – a smile tugged at his lips – their first night together had been quite gratifying. He was a healthy man in his prime, and he didn't find the thought of an innocent bride barely older than his oldest daughter very appealing. Things with Elsa felt right, at least when it was just the two of them, and she couldn't be any worse a maternal influence in the children's lives than a steady parade of ineffective governesses.

Which reminded him. He patted the chest pocket of his jacket to be sure the brochures were still there. The two schools he'd chosen were the finest in the country, one for Liesl and Louisa, maybe even Brigitta, the other for Friedrich and Kurt. The order and routine of boarding school would probably suit his children much better than one all-purpose governess ever could. And Elsa would find it easier, having only the youngest ones at home; he'd be able to find a better sort of governess, too, with only two little girls on the roster.

When he arrived in Vienna, Elsa was waiting for him, nervously lighting cigarette after cigarette. She wasn't used to feeling this flustered: she wondered if he would kiss her, or if she even wanted him to. Her heart gave a little lurch of disappointment when he simply squeezed her hand in greeting. He quickly put her at ease, asking about a concert he'd missed, sharing the latest financial news from Paris and London. But then, just as she was relaxing into the conversation, things went awry.

"Where are you staying this time, Georg?" It was a joke between them, how he was so restless he never chose the same hotel twice in a row.

A smile quirked his lips. "I- I thought I might stay here. With you."

A thousand butterflies took flight in her belly, and she felt her cheeks turn pink. But before she could respond, he continued, with a regretful shake of the head, "But this is a courtship, not a honeymoon. I don't want to take advantage of the situation until we've got it all sorted out. Best to take it slow."

Actually, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to take it slow. Being in his presence reminded Elsa of just how magnificent a man he was, and rather tempted her to take advantage of _him._ On the other hand, she was going to need her wits about her, and having Georg in her bed would make it impossible to think straight. No, she'd just have to try to do without that particular form of his company until things between them were settled.

Elsa's struggle with temptation was written all over her face, and it made Georg smile to himself. He understood: he could use a tumble himself. He'd been distracted during his brief visit to Salzburg , snapping at the children, taunting the new governess from the Abbey. He was fairly certain Elsa would accept his proposal, so long as long as the young fraulein could keep the children in line. Still, some reassurance might be in order. "Elsa, I don't want you to think," he went on, "that is, I hope…"

"Hope what, Georg?"

"Well," he looked around, to make sure no servants lurked nearby, "when we were together. I mean, it's possible we were both out of practice. It will be even better, you know, when we get comfortable with each other."

Elsa could do nothing but stare at him. _Better_?

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In the end, she managed to put the trip to Salzburg off for two weeks, two weeks during which her resolve to keep her distance from him was sorely tested. During those two weeks, Georg not only saved her from a bad real estate investment in Zurich, but he sent her flowers, bought her a lovely bracelet – he was smart enough not to make it a ring – and he kept her company just long enough to tantalize her with his presence without becoming tiresome. Elsa kept herself busy shopping for the trip, until at last, it was the evening before their departure for Salzburg. Max and Georg dined with her early, and she saw them off at the door, promising to be ready at the ungodly hour of nine the next morning.

Not an hour later, she had taken her hair down and changed into her nightgown when she heard the doorbell ring, and Peter knocked on her door to announce that Georg was waiting for her in the library.

"Georg? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, darling. Of course." He didn't say anything about her attire, but she didn't miss the appreciative look he sent her way. "Elsa, with Max here this evening, and along for the ride tomorrow, we won't have had much of a chance to talk. I just came by to remind you to keep an open mind about my proposal."

She frowned. "I _am_ terribly fond of you, Georg. You know that. But I still have trouble understanding how that can be enough."

"You can't deny that there is _something_ good between us," he said. She felt his tender smile and warm blue gaze like a caress, but he made no effort to touch her.

"I have a rather distinct memory of that, yes," she admitted, laughing nervously.

The smile slowly faded from his face, and the look that remained took her breath away. Elsa's heart pounded so loud she was sure he would hear it. She was almost dizzy with relief when, at last, his fingertip brushed her cheek, ran down along her throat and slid under the lace edge of her nightgown. He drew near to her and whispered an endearment; his mouth nipped at her earlobe and traced her jaw until his lips brushed her mouth. Something coiled within her let go, and then her body was no longer her own.

The next morning, they left for Salzburg.

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Georg was happy to be home, but he was also eager to get on with things. He paced the foyer, trying his best not to be annoyed that there was no sign of the children, although he'd left instructions that the new governess should have them neatly dressed and ready to greet his party at any time after lunch. Moreover, it had been a good half-hour since Elsa had disappeared into the guest wing "for a quick refresh."

At last, Elsa reappeared. He was startled at first by her bright red suit, which stood out like some kind of warning flag against the muted serenity of the foyer, but the uncertain look on her face touched his heart.

"Georg, darling. I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but I changed three times. I just wasn't sure..." Elsa trailed off.

"You look fine, Elsa. I can't imagine what that governess has done with the children, but they were anxious to meet you. Max had some telephone calls to make, so meanwhile, can I entertain you with a tour? What would you like to see first? The stables or the lake?"

"The interior first, please. The guest rooms are lovely." She put a hand on his arm, looking up at him, sapphire eyes through dark lashes, and added in a husky whisper, "Are you going to show me your room?"

He shouldn't have been surprised by her question. He hadn't gone to Elsa's house last night intending to find his way into her bed, but things between them _had_ turned out to be nothing short of spectacular. And so now, for possibly the first time in his life, Georg von Trapp, a master strategist, a man possessed of lightning-fast reflexes, fumbled for a response. How could he possibly have failed to anticipate this situation?

"I - I don't know, Elsa. About our being together here. I mean, I realize that I invited you here. And of course I've enjoyed every minute we've spent- ehrm. Especially last night. But- " he sputtered to a finish. Georg couldn't possibly admit to what he was thinking: it was one thing in a hotel room, or Elsa's home. But in his own home? In the room, in the very bed he'd shared with Agathe? The thought had never occurred to him.

After several long, awkward moments, it was Elsa - intuitive, gracious Elsa - who rescued him. "I understand, Georg. With the children here." That didn't make him feel much better, letting Elsa think he was only concerned about appearances. But it would have to do for now.

Elsa barely paid attention to what Georg was saying as he showed her the first floor of the villa. She was stung by the decision he'd just sprung on her. She understood his thinking, what with the children in the house. But the thing she wanted most from Georg, the one thing that made her believe a marriage between them could work, was their intimacy. It was a disappointing start to her visit. But, she told herself, we're still partners, and the closest of friends, after all. That ought to be enough, shouldn't it?

The tour continued outside; they visited the stables and then strolled along the lake. It was beautiful here, she had to admit it, and Elsa could see – she could almost feel – Georg visibly relax as he strolled alongside her. Despite his reputation as a fearless naval hero, and although he'd always cut a dashing figure in evening clothes set against Vienna's glittering background , he did look more at home here , wearing a countrified trachten jacket and brandishing a riding crop.

"You're much less of a riddle when I see you here, Georg."

They fell into their usual easy banter. His self-deprecating responses confirmed what Elsa was already beginning to suspect: he'd never really been comfortable in Vienna. Apparently, he'd been using his trips there as some kind of ill-fitting disguise. "I do like it here, Georg. It's so lovely and peaceful. How can you leave it so often?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, pretending to be madly active, I suppose. Activity suggests a life filled with purpose," he said smoothly.

"Could it be running away from memories?" she prompted gently.

"Or perhaps just searching for a reason to stay," he said, giving her a meaningful look. And then he went on to compliment her lavishly, reminding her among other things of how she'd been his savior. It was reassuring to be reminded how much they'd shared, how fond he was of her, especially since circumstances would keep them apart during her visit. Elsa thought back to the nights he'd confided in her about Agathe, and today, for the first time, she found herself returning his confidences, telling him how she felt deep down inside.

"I'm just wealthy, unattached little me . . . searching, just like you."

To her surprise, he gave an uncomfortable bark of laughter. His face shuttered and he changed the subject abruptly. Apparently being lovers, or even husband and wife, wasn't going to make Georg any less of a riddle. Elsa struggled to figure out the sudden change in his demeanor. Only moments ago, he'd spoken easily about his feelings for her. And there were those long nights he'd poured out his heart to her. Wasn't she allowed the same privilege? It hadn't been this complicated with dear Erich, her best friend and confidant. If she wanted Georg von Trapp, she'd have to take his moods along with the rest, she supposed. But it would be worth it. After last night, she was more certain of that than ever.

Perhaps he was just distracted by the continuing absence of his children. Elsa was sure they were hiding from her. Goodness knows she felt like hiding from them! So when Georg went off in search of his children, Elsa welcomed a chance to gather her thoughts and have a cigarette.

But there was Max, with a million well-meant but intrusive questions. Yes, there were wedding bells in the future, she told him. But were they for her? His behavior a few minutes ago made her wonder if Georg could be having doubts of his own. Perhaps that explained his sudden evasiveness. Although he'd proposed marriage to her with no apparent reservations, perhaps, in some way, she was here on approval?

Georg returned, his mysterious mood darkened farther by his encounter with a messenger boy from the village. She tried to coax him out of it, she was always good at that, when the silence was shattered by noisy singing and shouting, and a rowboat came into view, bearing - could it be? - the same urchins they'd seen climbing in the trees out on the road, apparently heading straight for the villa!

She followed Georg to the landing. She couldn't make out what the noisy crew was shouting, but arrived just in time to watch the spectacle as the boatful of children and a young woman in a rough brown dress were dumped into the water. And in time to be utterly puzzled by his outraged and outsized response. "Come out of that water at once!" he bellowed – Georg von Trapp, whom she'd seen handle the toughest of business negotiations while retaining an icy calm. Her heart sank as she made the connection; those urchins were his children. She watched them scramble into line in response to a _naval whistle_ , for heaven's sake, and stand motionless under his grim inspection.

Despite Georg's perplexing behavior, Elsa couldn't stifle a giggle at the spectacle, at least not until he turned to glare at her. So she watched in silence, biting in the inside of her cheek. The new governess seemed a little rough, perhaps, but appealing. How Elsa would have loved a lively governess like this for herself instead of her brothers' rough neglect! Her heart went out to Georg as he made the introductions. This was probably not way he'd envisioned the first encounter between her and his children. She welcomed the chance to slip away as Georg turned his attention to the latest in his line of unruly governesses.

That lakeside scene happily turned out to be the low point of the day. The sight of seven neatly-combed, uniformed children performing for her and Max charmed and reassured her. The oldest two girls were quite attractive, and in her mind, Elsa tried to picture herself introducing them around Vienna. "And these are my stepdaughters." Yes, she could do this for Georg, she thought, She rather enjoyed the soft, warm weight of the littlest girl nestled against her.

Just as important, Georg's mood had improved considerably. Elsa had the vague sense, somehow, that she'd missed something, like an overlooked chapter in a book or scene in a play, when he entered the room and joined the children in singing before they gathered around to embrace him. Hadn't they just seen him two weeks earlier? And were they all simply ignoring his earlier outburst at them? Still, Georg had a lovely singing voice, that was a pleasant surprise.

"You never told me how enchanting your children are," she told him.

Georg smiled at the compliment, an affectionate smile that warmed her from head to toe, before stepping out of the room to speak to the governess. Elsa hoped that, now that his mood had mysteriously improved, he'd give the girl another chance. A few minutes later, he reappeared, lifting the youngest girl into his lap and seating himself at her side. "Well," he said. "This is working out quite well, wouldn't you say?"

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 **Thanks for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting my story. It's tricky figuring Elsa out, and I especially thank thebeestings (who pointed out the missing scene angle). I don't own anything about TSOM.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"I could eat you up, my little Fraulein."

She had looked _delicious_. Adorable in her simple blue dress, her cheeks flushed and coppery hair askew, arms thrown wide as though she might welcome his embrace. As though they were not just talking about a puppet show. For one very long moment, he got lost in her wide blue gaze. He wanted to linger there forever.

He could practically taste her.

"I could eat you up," the words had formed on his lips, and for one panicked moment, Georg feared he'd spoken them aloud, had let them fly out into the gilded ballroom. But apparently, he still had some, if tenuous, control over his actions. Enough control that he'd gathered his wits and escorted Elsa from the ballroom, and parried with Max over his ridiculous plan to turn his family into some kind of spectacle.

In the end, it had been only a moment, after all, one moment in a charmed evening. He hadn't held a guitar in years, and was surprised at how quickly and easily the song had come back to him. The last time he'd sung that duet with Liesl, she'd been a girl in pigtails.

Georg pushed away that regret. All he could do now was make up for those lost years, he told himself, taking another breath of the cool night air. A carpet of glittering stars arched over the lake. This nighttime view from the terrace had never failed to bring him solace. Charmed evening or no, he needed a few quiet moments to gather his thoughts, to assess the situation.

The little governess first. He was mortified – _horrified -_ to find himself responding to her in this fashion. She was living under his protection while on loan from Nonnberg Abbey, for God's sake. And she was exactly the kind of virginal young girl, barely older than Liesl , that he had no interest in. But even if he tried to ignore the spark that had passed between them tonight, there was the question of the schoolgirl crush she apparently had on him.

Take yesterday. "I made these for you," Fraulein Maria had said shyly, offering him a plate of almond cookies just like his grandmother's. She'd heard him complain that Cook would have nothing to do with the "Italian" treats from his childhood. A man like Georg knew how to put a quick, decisive end to this kind of crush - he'd been doing it since he was Liesl's age. But he couldn't bring himself to distance himself from her, feeling almost superstitious about the magical spell she'd cast over his family.

After their argument by the lake, somehow, the wind had shifted and things were sailing along smoothly at the villa. Fraulein Maria had figured out that music would bring together a fumbling father and his unruly children, but that was only the beginning. Every one of her suggestions was spot on.

"Louisa longs to ride horseback, Captain, but she's afraid of jumping and is too embarrassed to admit it to you."

"Imagine how proud the boys would be if you personally taught them to sail, Captain."

"Brigitta would benefit so much from your suggestions about what to read next. She'd devour anything you put in front of her, Captain."

There was almost an echo of Agathe to it - no, it wasn't anything like that. But the little governess was funny and earnest and her unflagging optimism was a refreshing antidote to the crumbling world he saw all around him.

He'd been a coward, he could see that now, running away from his family for fear he could not bear their mother's absence. When in fact, being near his children seemed to lift his spirits. Perhaps it was just the passage of time, four years now, but Agathe rested more easily in his heart, at least here in Aigen where he could see her in Louisa's smile, in Liesl's eyes. He'd forgotten how _physical_ fatherhood could be: Marta's sticky hands plumbing his pockets for treats. Kurt barreling head-on into his father's belly in enthusiastic greeting. Liesl tolerating his clumsy attempts to teach her the waltz.

Fraulein Maria and Elsa didn't have much in common with Agathe. Or each other. But seeing his life through their eyes: the whistles and marching, the bad-tempered father, the strict routines, seven tree-climbing soaking wet children dressed in rags – he had seen that it was time to make changes, and somehow, the approval of these two women, different as they were from each other, mattered to him.

He sighed deeply and turned his thoughts to Elsa. Elsa, who was gamely making an effort to fit into life at the villa, which was turning out to be a challenge, since she didn't like water or horses or mountain hikes. Elsa preferred to spend her days shopping and her nights being entertained in Salzburg. She was still having trouble keeping the younger children's names straight or finding much to talk about with any of them besides Liesl, who adored her. He appreciated Elsa's ready apologies for these shortcomings, and always rushed to reassure her that he didn't expect her to change into someone she could never be. He had no right to expect that from her; she'd been the one to ask him from the beginning if their friendship was enough to build a marriage on, and he was determined to show her it could be.

"There you are!" Elsa startled him with her sudden appearance by his side, as though she'd been reading his mind. "Georg. About the party. I'm sorry to have sprung the idea on you in front of your children. I should have spoken to you privately."

"No, no," he reassured her. "It's a fine idea." Planning this party would give Elsa something to do for the next few weeks , something she'd enjoy far more than their usual rustic activities. "I should have thought of it myself, Elsa. We haven't done enough to make you feel welcome, and you've been such a good sport about everything. I'm sure we can put together a suitable guest list, even if …"

"Even if what, Georg?"

He shook his head. "That messenger boy isn't the only one. I'd been away from home so much, I hadn't realized how things had changed. The Salzburg I knew is disappearing. The neighbors – there's a lot of support for the Nazis here in Aigen. I'm not sure I'll find a friend at this party."

"Georg. I know there's a lot on your mind. We don't have to do this."

Georg studied her face carefully. He was certain that Elsa had observed the undercurrent between him and the young Fraulein. He reminded himself that he had brought this woman into his home, firmly determined to convince her to become his wife. Somehow, things had gotten off track. Up until now she'd asked him for nothing. This party might be just the thing to show Elsa that their lives could be woven together smoothly.

"No, Elsa. Let's go ahead with the party, definitely. We might even consider announcing our engagement. What do you say to that?"

There was a long, awkward silence. "I don't know, Georg. Perhaps. Let me think about it." She reached up to kiss his cheek, an obvious effort at an apology, but the gesture reminded him of the passion that had flared between the two of them in Vienna. Kept apart here at the villa, no wonder things were strained between them.

Elsa's dark eyes glowed in the moonlight and his fingers suddenly itched to smooth the blond tendril that had escaped and curled softly against her neck. Out here, with her warm fragrant body close by, and his children and governess safely out of sight, he could easily recall with certainty that marriage to Elsa Schraeder was the next best step for him and his family. The situation with the little governess was irrelevant. A minor distraction at best.

Why, he asked himself, was he thinking of his governess at a time like this? Growling with frustration, he grabbed Elsa by the shoulders and hauled her lithe body against his, not even pausing to take a breath before crushing his mouth to hers. She gave a little cry of surprise, but quickly melted against him as she responded to his kiss.

Georg kissed her with ferocious abandon until she pulled away from him to catch her breath, turning away to look out at the lake. His mind raced: perhaps there was a way for them to be together, he thought. No one would be the wiser if he showed her the stairway that led from his study to the master suite, no one except the servants who were unfailingly discreet. The children need never know. Nor would their governess.

For some reason, the thought drew his eyes upward to a sight that stopped him cold: Fraulein Maria suddenly appeared in her bedroom window. She folded her arms on the window sill and rested her chin in her hands, looking out over the lake. Had she seen him kissing Elsa? And why should he care if she did? There was nothing to be ashamed of. He was obviously courting the woman, and they'd both been married before. With that innocent sprinkling of freckles on her face, the little fraulein probably had never even been kissed! Although there _was_ something in her voice when she implored him to take the guitar – "Please?" with the rest of her request left to his overheated imagination. And there was no mistaking the slow smolder in her eyes as she watched him sing…

Georg turned blindly, reaching for Elsa, but it was no use. His mood was broken.

Looking slightly dazed, Elsa whispered, "That was – lovely. And unexpected. Now what?"

"That depends, Elsa. Do you have an answer for me? To my proposal?"

She looked down at the ground. "Soon, Georg. I promise. But not tonight."

His reply was harsher than he intended. "It had better be soon, Elsa. I need an answer from you _very_ soon." Georg turned abruptly on his heel and left her alone, on the terrace, under the stars.

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Elsa closed the bedroom door behind her and took a deep breath. She'd mishandled the situation with the young nun-turned-governess. But then again, this whole party had been a mistake. She should have known that from the moment Georg agreed to the idea, when she'd seen the guilt and pity in his eyes. She could practically hear him think it: at last, a way to keep Elsa occupied.

After feeling out of her element all summer, this party was Elsa's best shot at convincing him – convincing both of them, for God's sake – that their lives could fit together neatly. Georg was the one who had started it all, who had asked her to marry him, who had invited her into his home. But tonight, he'd left her standing on the sidelines, humiliated, while he was wrapped in a tender embrace with his governess. Oh, she knew it was just part of a folk dance. Georg might not be much for the waltz, but he knew his folk dances, apparently.

What bothered her more than anything was the way she'd overreacted. This was not the kind of person Elsa wanted to be, and she'd be haunted for a good long while by the anguished way Fraulein Maria had blushed and stammered at the mere suggestion of impropriety. Elsa had already needled the girl, the night of that ridiculous puppet show, and it really hadn't been necessary to push so hard, to confuse her by talking about love when it was really only about sex.

And it wasn't Fraulein Maria's fault, after all, not really. The girl had been little more than an annoyance, flirting with Georg from the very beginning of the summer. And who could blame her? She was just a dreamy-eyed youngster dazzled in the presence of a handsome war hero twice her age. Soon enough, she'd disappear behind the convent walls for good.

Elsa had less sympathy for Georg, who'd encouraged his governess' infatuation with him when, by rights, he should have put a quick end to it. Could a man who'd been celebrated for bravery really be naïve enough to have been rattled by a simple mountain girl? Ever since the children's puppet show, Elsa had watched him carefully, and she knew his fascination with his governess wasn't serious. He'd made that clear on the terrace that night, when he'd overwhelmed her with passionate kisses, like he had something to prove to both of them. And not ten minutes after she'd found them entwined on the terrace this evening, he'd brushed the girl off without a second thought. It was nothing for Elsa to worry about.

Suddenly, she was struck by a horrifying possibility: was this what being married to Georg would be like? Erich would _never_ have carried on in this fashion. He had eyes for no one but Elsa, and she knew the same had been true for Georg and Agathe. But those marriages had been based on love. Perhaps the ground rules were different in a marriage like the one Georg had proposed to her. Elsa had come to accept that people like her and Georg would never find another boundless, perfect love; she understood she wouldn't have his soul, but was she going to have to share the rest of him?

She pressed her fingers into her weary eyes, wondering once again how she had gotten herself into this situation. Before she'd even been sure what she hoped for from Georg, the life she might have made with him seemed to be slipping away. In its place was a life full of children and folk-singing after dinner, a life with a man she barely understood at times, a life she hadn't envisioned during the two long, sweet nights in Vienna when they'd made love until dawn.

During those two astonishing, unforgettable nights, desire had driven all her doubts away, and in the shelter of his arms, anything had seemed possible. Suddenly Elsa ached to be in Georg's bed once again. She wanted his eyes locked with hers, just as they'd been at the height of their passion. She wanted the dark rumble of his voice to urge her on, his lips grazing her skin. If only she could find her way back to the Georg she knew in Vienna, she could work everything else out. It would all be worthwhile. Elsa was sure of it.

The yearning drove her down the stairs, across the foyer and into the ballroom. She gulped down a glass of champagne for courage, bantering with Max while her eyes scanned the room until she found Georg. She moved slowly toward him, trying her best to appear composed and in control as she reached for him. Relief washed over her as he took her in his arms and moved her into the waltz.

"Georg?"

"Hm?" He was distracted, his mind elsewhere. He stepped on her toe. "Sorry, Elsa darling. You know me and the waltz. You were saying?"

"Yes."

"I beg your pardon, Elsa?"

She raised her voice just as the music ended, and all around them, guests turned their heads as she gave him her answer at last.

"Yes, Georg. I'll marry you."

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **I'm having fun assembling this story and I hope you're having fun reading it. Please leave me a review! And thanks for your reviews, follows and favorites so far. When I get to the end, I'll have more to say about the various ways I have and haven't challenged the TSOM canon. Meanwhile, I don't own TSOM or anything about it. A special thanks to hatoff for the secret stairs to the bedroom. For stairs that have never been used, they come in handy!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The view from Elsa's window was stunning – lake, trees, mountains. Even a city girl had to appreciate it, especially at this time of day, when the sun dipped low and set everything on fire. But today, she might as well have been staring at a brick wall for all that it mattered. Her mind was a jumble; she'd barely been able to think straight for the last hour, ever since the little governess had returned from her convent, suddenly appearing on the back terrace as if dropped from the sky. Elsa had to admire the young woman's bravado, which was an obvious sham; it was impossible to miss the tears spilling down her cheeks as she dashed into the house.

Sighing, Elsa turned away from the window and slumped into an armchair, lighting a cigarette and forcing herself to focus on the situation. It was one of her biggest weaknesses, she knew, not being able to walk away from a deal. Georg had found fault with her often enough for it. She'd let herself panic the night of the party, accepted his proposal because she'd let herself be distracted by the memory of the passion she and Georg had shared. But even Elsa could see it was time to walk away from this game. She ticked through her doubts: a future living in Salzburg, not Vienna. With seven lively children whose father who had apparently abandoned his plan to send them to boarding school. After-dinner singalongs accompanied by the guitar. Mountain hikes and picnics.

A man who was always going to hold a part of himself back from her.

And then there was the minor fact that Georg was in love with his governess. With Fraulein Maria.

She'd realized it the moment she'd interrupted their awkward reunion on the terrace. It wasn't only his eyes that gave it away, it was the anxious set of his shoulders, the agitation in his voice, the twitch in his fingers even as he reached for her hand. Georg was in love, something they'd told each other a thousand times would never happen to either of them again. Elsa was incredulous – Fraulein Maria was nothing but an awkward, unsophisticated girl. But she also felt a flicker of jealousy. Elsa wanted someone to look at her the way Georg had looked at Fraulein Maria on the terrace.

Her thoughts skittered to Erich. "Elsalove," he used to call her, as though that one word were her name. And Elsa had loved him in return. She craved the feelings that Georg had awakened in her but, if she were really honest with herself, she didn't love him. Not the way she'd loved Erich. Somehow, what she and Georg had between them was enough when they were in the same situation, but now everything looked different.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Georg? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" She shook her head. "What am I saying? Obviously something is wrong, darling. And I'm glad you're here to straighten things out. Please, come in and sit down, and we'll have a talk."

Georg stood frozen in the doorway. He stared at the floor for a long moment, and then his eyes, cold and impenetrable, swung to her face, making a strange contrast to the broad, artificial smile pasted on his face. It was worse than any performance Elsa had ever seen in a theatre.

"I didn't come here to talk, Elsa. You ran away before I could tell you – I mean, to ask you – I thought we could go into town tonight. I've neglected you for far too long, let you languish in cozy domesticity. Put on something special. Something red. I'll take you into town. We'll have dinner and find some place to dance. We can talk about the wedding if you want. Window-shop for a ring."

"Georg." Elsa stood, steeling herself. "This has to stop. How many times have you tried to tell me that sometimes it's just not worth it, that you just have to walk away? There may be wedding bells in your future, but not for me. "

In a few long strides, he was standing right in front of her, grasping her arms with a grip made of iron. "Don't start that again, Elsa."

For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Which was the last thing either of them needed right now. Desperately, Elsa exclaimed, "But the girl!"

He didn't kiss her after all. His eyes met hers, that steely, implacable gaze, and he replied evenly, "What girl, Elsa?"

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

For some ridiculous reason, his thoughts kept returning to the medal – the Maria Theresa cross – which at this moment was safely tucked away in his desk. It was awarded, he'd explained to Friedrich, for acts "that might have been omitted by an honorable officer without reproach." For doing more than anyone might reasonably require of you, for being willing to risk everything in the service of a great cause. In his case, he had acted against an explicit order – putting everything on the line, not only his career, but his life and the lives of his colleagues. He could still remember his commanding officer, voice quivering with rage: "So you acted on impulse, von Trapp? Went against my orders without even a thought?"

"No," Georg had replied honestly. "I gave it considerable thought. If we'd gone ahead with our original plan, it would have been a disaster. The path I chose - it was the only way out." Although he'd only had a minute or two to make his decision, he had assessed the situation, considered the options and taken the only possible course of action.

Even in matters of the heart, Georg was a deliberate thinker, weighing his choices. He'd been out here on the balcony for an hour, staring at the stars, fighting what felt like the toughest battle of his life, in its own way as difficult as anything he'd experienced at war. All evening, he'd stubbornly stuck to his original game plan, but after only a few hours, the effort had exhausted him, and he could see it wasn't doing Elsa any good either. There was no avoiding the truth, no other way out. Was he ready to turn on his heel and walk away from everything he'd believed for years, about himself, his life, his marriage to Agathe?

In the early days after Agathe's death, people had talked endlessly of her memory, like it was something he was supposed to consider an acceptable substitute for the real thing. But it wasn't, not for Georg. The only way to keep his love for Agathe alive, to make of her more than a flimsy memory, was to leave her place in his life intact. It was Elsa who'd helped him how to do that, keeping his mind and body occupied while leaving Agathe undisturbed in his heart.

But apparently his heart was spacious enough to hold two women, and somehow, it had chosen a rough-edged, charming scamp, a girl half his age, to nestle easily alongside Agathe. He'd been pushing his feelings for her aside all summer, but looking back, it seemed like she'd gotten under his skin from the very start. In a world where even his enemies seemed to look to him for certainty, for rectitude, his governess - improbable as it seemed - turned out to be, like Agathe, someone who saw through his weaknesses and believed in him nonetheless. He wanted her in his bed, yes, but he needed her everywhere else too, by his side. As his wife, and mother to his children. He'd proposed marriage to Elsa at a time when his children seemed lost to him, but Maria had helped him find his way back to them: another sign that she belonged in his family forever.

He'd been frantic with worry while she was away, barely sleeping or eating, despite the Mother Abbess' frosty assurances. The old woman could believe what she wanted. Maria was not _fine_. She could not possibly be _doing well._ Somehow, he'd known this for a fact, and it was confirmed standing on the terrace this afternoon, when the hurt in her eyes had told him everything he'd needed to know.

Or had it? Perhaps he'd misread the situation. There had been something cool and detached in her manner when she'd informed him she'd be leaving again soon. And when he'd gone to say good night to the children, she'd met his gaze with dead eyes, a few curt words and not a blush in sight.

Ever since she had materialized on the terrace, the drumbeat in his mind repeated itself: the safest, wisest thing would be to stay the course he'd set. But it didn't matter. He had to explore this incredible turn of events, no matter the consequences, just as he'd risked everything in battle years ago. There was a price to be paid no matter what happened. There was the possibility that Maria would reject him. And while Elsa wasn't in love with him any more than he was with her - they'd been honest with each other about that from the beginning – the situation was rife with the possibility for humiliating gossip, even scandal. He didn't care about those things himself, but he owed Elsa more than that, Elsa, whose friendship had saved his life.

It would have been easier to fall in love with Elsa, he thought ruefully. Their affair had made all the sense in the world, until suddenly it didn't make sense anymore. Perhaps he'd thought with time his feelings for her would deepen. She was intriguing, beautiful, and kind. He tried to conjure up for himself the memory of her soft skin, her husky sweet cries, the warm, relaxed, trusting feeling he'd had in her presence, as though his entire body was unclenching.

No, he was grateful to Elsa, but it would only hurt her more to offer her intimacy in bed when there was no intimacy in their hearts. She'd tried to warn him that their friendship would not be enough to sustain a marriage. He hadn't believed her, but now, when it was too late to rewrite their history, he saw that she was right. Elsa had taken care of him at first, and then brought him tremendous pleasure, but he would never crave the opportunity to simply be in her presence the way – and how strange it felt to admit this – the way he was craving his little governess.

As if on cue, Fraulein Maria appeared on the terrace below, walking toward the gazebo. Her face was serious, her demeanor restrained, and he didn't know whether the sight made him ache on her behalf, or rejoice at a possible sign of her feelings for him.

From the shadows, Elsa watched Georg, wondering what was going on in his mind. He was even more of a riddle tonight than usual. As he'd requested, she had presented herself in the foyer, dressed for a night out, only to have him change his mind and announce that they would dine at home with the children after all. It wasn't Elsa's place to object, although it had been a singularly unpleasant experience.

Georg had been subdued, saying very little, but drinking glass after glass of wine. The younger children were boisterous, wild with joy at the return of their governess, but Fraulein Maria seemed utterly distracted and unable to control them in her usual fashion. At last, the oldest girl escorted her littlest sisters out of the room, leaving behind one negligent governess and the four von Trapp children who liked Elsa the least; as though sensing their governess' weakened position, they shot Elsa poisonous looks while consuming stomach-turning quantities of dessert. That left Max, oblivious to everything and chattering away as usual. Elsa consoled herself with a large portion of Cook's weiner schnitzel, even though she knew she shouldn't.

Elsa watched Georg for another minute or two while she made her plan. She was not going to let him leave this balcony without forcing him to confront the mess they had managed to create together and that he was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge. Surely she could get him to see the reality. She smoothed her red dress over her hips and took a deep breath before stepping out of the shadows.

"There you are!" Like a missile seeking its target, Elsa got right to the point: the wedding, the honeymoon. "You have no idea the trouble I'm having trying to decide on a wedding present for you. Oh, I know. I'm enough. But I do want you to have some little trifle for the occasion. At first I thought of a fountain pen, but you've already got one. Then I thought perhaps a villa in the south of France, but they are so difficult to gift-wrap. Oh, Georg, how do you feel about yachts? A long, sleek one for the Mediterranean, or a tiny one for your bathtub?"

"Elsa," he began, and she thought she saw something change in his face. But he fell silent again. Elsa prayed for him to step in and stop before she had to go much farther. It was painful, poking holes in the dream they'd both wanted to believe in.

"Where to go on our honeymoon? Now, that's a real problem. A trip around the world would be lovely. And then I said: Oh, Elsa, there must be someplace better to go. But don't worry, darling, I'll..."

"Elsa," he said firmly. She was overcome with relief.

"Yes, Georg?"

And just like that, it was over. It hardly mattered what Georg said, or even what he wanted to believe. Elsa was free of him, of a promise she never should have made, of a price she was simply not willing to pay.

Despite her relief, her eyes filled with tears.

"I've enjoyed every moment we've had together and I do thank you for that," she told him, and it was true. Georg had opened her eyes to the physical pleasure possible between men and women. Alas, their time together had also reminded her how long she'd gone without love in her life.

She left Georg von Trapp with a kiss on his cheek and a fond farewell. Although she didn't quite understand the surprised look on his face when she conceded the point about Fraulein Maria. To Elsa, his feelings were as obvious as the nose on his face. That girl was going to have her hands full with him.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Tonight, the foyer was deserted. It was hard to believe that only a week had passed since it had been crowded with glittering guests, the clink of champagne flutes, and the lilting sound of an orchestra. It might as well have been a century, Elsa thought.

Erich had always praised her for the way she'd bounced back from her wicked childhood. "Another person who suffered through such a miserable youth would have wallowed in their pain. Like anyone else, Elsa, you stew over things. The difference is that you get over them and move on. It's one of your greatest strengths."

So Elsa let herself wallow, for just a few minutes, anyway, until it was time for her to leave. She'd been a generous, compassionate friend to Georg von Trapp. She'd coaxed him through the waltz. She'd spent hours holding his hands while he learned to love music again. It seemed unfair that, in the end, it had been a peasant dance and a mountain folksong that had won him over.

But Elsa couldn't be angry, because she didn't really want the life he offered her. She'd known it from the start, had tried to warn him, but then she'd been dazzled by the lovemaking. No question about that. If Erich were to reappear at this moment, she'd have a question or two for him on that front.

The price Georg was asking for the pleasure he brought her was more than Elsa could pay. Her mind took her back to the first morning she'd awakened in his bed, and her shock and surprise at learning that not all men were like Erich. _Not all men were like Erich._ Elsa sat straight up in her chair at the thought.

"I thought I just might find you here!"

Elsa lit another cigarette and smiled, waving Max into a nearby chair. His company would be a welcome distraction while she waited for Franz to finish loading her bags into the car that would take her to the station.

He took a seat and leaned forward, his eyes glittering with interest. "So. You must be furious."

"Oh, Max," she said, with a little noise that was half-sob, half-laugh. "He's in love with her. What was he supposed to do?"

She couldn't tell Max that what had gone on with Georg in the bedroom had blinded her to the truth. But there was plenty she could share. "I don't know what came over me. I must have lost my mind! I told Georg from the beginning that it wasn't going to work. You saw it for yourself: those children weren't any happier than I was when they heard the news of our engagement. And ten minutes playing ball with them? That was enough to last me the rest of my life. Not to mention the nightly sing-alongs."

"He's a good man, Elsa," Max said mildly.

"Oh, I know that, Max. He's just not the man I thought he was. All those months in Vienna? It's like he'd locked away his true self and offered me what was left. Remember the day the three of us drove here? He and I were full of hopes we had no right to. Once I saw him here in his natural habitat, he just wasn't the man for me anymore. We both knew it, I think, but it took us a while to be able to admit it to each other."

"I don't know, Elsa. If you don't love him, what explains the tears?" Max held out a large, snowy handkerchief.

"I want what he has. Up until Georg started up with all this marriage stuff, I thought I'd had the love of my life and that was it. Watching him fall in love with that girl, well, it just reminds me of what I lost when my Erich died." She paused to dab at her eyes. "I don't regret what happened with Georg, though. He did me a favor."

Something had been nagging at the edges of her mind, ever since Max had interrupted her. What was it again? Oh, yes. _Not all men were like Erich._ The thought occurred to Elsa that Georg might not be the only fish in the sea.

"What favor did Georg do for you, exactly?" Max asked. "Other than publicly humiliate you?"

"He made me a lot of money," Elsa reminded him. "And Georg helped me see what it is I want for myself, even though he can't give it to me. Now all I have to do is figure out how to get it."

A horn sounded from the courtyard. Elsa hurried up the staircase and turned to wave at Max. "Auf Wiedersehen, darling." She blew him a kiss before slipping out of the house and into the waiting car.

Elsa Schraeder was on her way back to Vienna, where she belonged.

 **OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 **No, this isn't the end. Once again, a H/T to thebeestings for her many contributions and a weiner schnitzel joke or two. And to lemacd for staunch advice and cheerleading. I don't own anything about TSOM. Please leave me a review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**EPILOGUE**

"One moment please, miss, and I'll show you to your table."

The maître-d' was not only handsome, but Elsa gave him extra points for switching flawlessly from English to German as she approached. And for calling her "miss."

She craned her head for a better look into the nightclub: twinkling fairy lights, tiny satin-covered tables, waiters everywhere bearing trays laden with enormous cocktails. The sweet, low sound of an orchestra tuning. Sophisticated as she was about things on land, Elsa had had no idea that nightlife aboard a ship could be so elegant. Things were looking up. And, in a way, she had Georg to thank for it.

After six months, whatever awkwardness or embarrassment she might have felt about their little summertime misadventure had eased, and Elsa often thought of Georg fondly. She'd heard through the grapevine about the big church wedding - another reassuring sign that she'd made the right decision - and his family's subsequent flight from Austria.

Georg had been indirectly responsible for helping Elsa make some other good decisions as well. She'd gotten a short note from him a week or so after her return to Vienna. In typical-Georg fashion, he had thanked her for visiting Salzburg, and made a stuffy allusion to their time together. There was no mention of his governess-turned-bride. But the real purpose for his letter was to introduce her to Ben Altschuler.

Herr Altschuler, Georg had written, was an astute investor and skilled attorney. "Don't let appearances sway you," the letter said. "He's the one who taught me what I needed to know when Agathe's money came my way. I don't expect to be in Vienna very often-" the next part was scratched out - "but I've written to him about you, and I assure you he will do a much better job as your business advisor than I ever did."

Herr Altschuler had turned out to be not much to look at: short, fat, balding, and sweaty, even as the hot late-summer weather turned chilly with the change of seasons. But Elsa quickly saw through appearances and easily learned to trust her new and talented partner during their long meetings in his city offices. One December day, he made a surprise visit to her home, with no appointment. When she greeted him in her salon, he was pacing the room, looking uncharacteristically anxious and even sweatier than ever.

"Baroness Schrader. I'm sorry for the short notice. I wanted to tell you personally that I'm leaving Austria next week."

"What? Why? Where are you going?"

He made a little face. "The less you know about that the better." He stopped to look around nervously and lowered his voice. "My wife, you see. She's half-Jewish. We've got to get out now."

"I'm so sorry," Elsa said sympathetically. She'd miss the fellow. "I do wish you all the best. Is there anyone you'd recommend..."

"What I recommend to you is not a _person_ , but a course of action," he cut her off. "Listen to me. Your holdings outside of Europe are safe. Everything else – investments in Europe, your house here? Sell everything you can. The Germans are buying real estate like mad. You can get a lot for your holdings."

"But this house belonged to my late husband-"

"It doesn't matter. Sell everything you can. Buy gold. Or jewelry. It's portable and you know a lot about it. Then get out of Austria. Go to America."

"America?" It was ridiculous advice. Elsa was Austrian through and through. She'd married into the aristocracy! Still, she trusted this man enough to hear him out. "But I don't know anyone in America. I don't speak English."

He nodded. "That's part of the urgency. I have a brother. Daniel. He went to university in America and settled there. By now, he's built himself quite a nice little financial empire. He's here in Austria at the moment, helping me tie up our family's affairs, but he'll be sailing back to New York in eight weeks' time, once the worst of the winter is behind us. Daniel has connections with American government that allow him to sponsor one person when he returns, and he's agreed to take you on."

Herr Altschuler stopped pacing abruptly and faced her. "There's something you ought to know, Baroness. When Captain von Trapp asked me to work with you, he made it very clear to me that I was to do whatever it took to keep you safe and provided for. _Anything._ I served under the Captain and there is nothing I wouldn't do for him. And so I must honor my promise to him, to watch out for you." Altschuler suddenly looked very old, and unbearably sad. "Please, Baroness. At least meet with Daniel before you make a decision."

Elsa didn't know whether to feel like a madcap adventuress or a terrified mouse, the way it had all happened so fast after that. If Georg were here, she often thought, he'd tell me that it's time to walk away from this game. The truth was that life in Vienna really wasn't fun anymore anyway; Max Detweiler had relocated to Shanghai within days of the von Trapp family's disappearance, and the Germans were far too intense for her tastes. She had been badly rattled late last summer, just after her return from Salzburg, when a little weasel of a man named Zeller came to her house with three henchmen and began asking questions about Georg.

"Yes, Herr Zeller," she said warily. "Captain von Trapp and I were friends for a time."

"It's common knowledge, Baroness, that he was going to marry you until his governess got hold of him."

Elsa rolled her eyes. "And it's also common knowledge that the happy couple is, at this very minute, on their honeymoon. Herr Zeller, it appears that you and I were the only two people in Austria not invited to that wedding. Why is it that you think _I_ know something that _you_ don't?"

Zeller hadn't answered her, simply pressed her to remember anything negative Georg might have said about the Nazis. She'd done a good job evading his questions, even though the whole time, she was uneasily watching his henchmen fondle her knickknacks and put their booted feet up on her furniture. One of them even stared at her, openly assessing her figure. Knowledge wasn't the only common thing about these odious men.

So in the end, Elsa had done it, taken Ben Altschuler's advice to move to America as impulsively as though she were deciding to spend a weekend in Paris. She'd shipped Erich's portrait and a few treasured possessions to Switzerland for safekeeping, and sold the house in a matter of days.

And now here she was, eight weeks later, on board an American ship, two days' sail from New York City.

"Elsa?" a voice broke into her thoughts and she turned to find Daniel Altschuler smiling down at her. Whoever had handed out the looks in the Altschuler family had not had an even hand: Daniel, unlike his brother Ben, was tall and strikingly handsome, with a lean muscular build, warm dark eyes and a wide, soft mouth. But he shared with his brother a sharp intellect and a big, kind heart.

A year ago, before everything had happened with Georg, Elsa would have been blind to Daniel's charms, unable to see past her memories of Erich. Erich was still with her as she journeyed to America. The memories of their marriage would always be engraved on her heart. But her time with Georg had taught her that it would do Erich's memory no dishonor to seek pleasure in the company of a handsome man.

Within a matter of weeks, Elsa began to suspect that something special was happening between her and Daniel Altschuler. They shared a great many interests. He'd been in America long enough that the culture had rubbed off on him: he was open, delightfully informal and easygoing, never afraid to tell her what was on his mind. The physical attraction had been almost irresistible, and Elsa found herself distracted by his long fingers and broad shoulders, wondering what he looked like beneath his elegant evening clothes, about the promise behind his confident smile and soulful eyes. She'd warned herself to go slowly after her experience with Georg, and she had the feeling Daniel, too, was holding himself back as they got to know each other in the weeks before they set sail for New York.

Having known unconditional love from Erich and unrestrained passion from Georg, she wasn't sure she would ever find one person who could give her both. But, Elsa had decided, it was time to find out.

The maître d' bowed them to a table just off the dance floor. They 'd started on their second round of cocktails and were sharing a plate of oysters when the evening's star attraction, a celebrated French chanteuse, joined the orchestra on stage. The crowd applauded enthusiastically until the lights went down and the music turned slow and seductive. Elsa turned to find Daniel starting at her intently. He reached over to pat her hand, a friendly gesture, but then lifted it to his lips and kissed her palm. On stage, in the golden glow of a single spotlight, the singer crooned into the microphone, her dark-velvet voice filled with emotion.

Non, rien de rien  
Non, je ne regrette rien  
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait  
Ni le mal tout ça m'est bien égal

Non, rien de rien  
Non, je ne regrette rien  
C'est payé, balayé, oublié  
Je me fous du passé

Avec mes souvenirs  
J'ai allumé le feu  
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs  
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux

Balayés les amours  
Avec leurs trémolos  
Balayés pour toujours  
Je repars à zéro

Non, rien de rien  
Non, je ne regrette rien  
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait  
Ni le mal tout ça m'est bien égal

Non, rien de rien  
Non, Je ne regrette rien  
Car ma vie, car mes joies  
Aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi

OoOoOoOo

Nothing of nothing  
No, I regret nothing  
Not the good things that have been done to me  
or the bad things, it's all the same to me

No, I regret nothing  
No, nothing of nothing  
It's paid for, swept away, forgotten  
I don't care about the past

With my memories  
I lit the fire  
My troubles, my pleasures  
I don't need them anymore

Swept away my past loves  
With their tremors  
Swept away for always  
I start again from zero

No, nothing of nothing  
No, I regret nothing  
Not the good things that have been done to me  
Nor the bad things, it's all the same to me

No, nothing of nothing  
No, I regret nothing  
Because my life, my joys  
Today, it begins with you.

 **oOoOoOoOoO**

 **THE END**

 **oOoOoOoOoO**

 **And that's a wrap. Thanks for reading, favoriting, following and reviewing my story. Leave me one more review, won't you?**

 **"Je Ne Regrette Rien" was actually not written until 1956. But I have no regrets about using it here.**

 **The Proboards community generally frowns on long A/Ns, but I'm going to break that rule to make two observations.**

 **One, this story taught me that if you go AU, you can't keep everyone in character. To make this story work, Georg had to be a bit more of a clueless cardboard man, and I apologize to him for that. Two, I got a lot of interesting PMs and reviews suggesting that maybe things really happened this way. Which I take as a compliment, but personally, I don't really think it happened this way for E &G. I think this story was plausible, but probably the simplest backstory is: she loved him, and he didn't love her back. However, I wanted to try and write a story in which Georg did not break Elsa's pathetic little heart. And as explained previously, I fell in love with Utility_singer's observation that if Elsa had Georg even once, she'd know what she was missing. And then I just kind of started to have fun flipping as many things as possible from the movie on their heads. **

**A huge number of ideas and actual lines from this story really did come from thebeestings. And I do thank her for that. I'm off to help HatOff with another update of her story, Now When I Want You. If you haven't read it yet, and you're old enough to read M stories, I heartily recommend it.**


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